


Blood Spilled

by Lassenby



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, it's Talion, main character death (ish?), not as grim as it sounds, only a tiny bit ship, so it's impermanent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassenby/pseuds/Lassenby
Summary: When Talion and Ratbag camp in the hills, Ratbag takes first watch and makes a terrible mistake.
Relationships: Ratbag the Coward/Talion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	Blood Spilled

As night fell over Mordor, the last embers of daylight revealed a man and an orc trekking up a craggy hillside. The ranger Talion climbed easily, with long, surefooted strides, while the skinny uruk clambered behind. Ratbag panted with the effort of keeping up.

“Ranger,” he wheezed. “Are we going to make camp soon?”

Talion didn’t answer. That wasn’t unusual; the ranger often ignored Ratbag, either because he didn’t deem the uruk’s prattle worthy of a response, or because he was lost in thought and hadn’t heard the question.

Ratbag got his answer soon enough. They reached a wide shelf where an outcropping jutted overhead, casting the shelf in deep shadow.

“Here,” Talion said.

He lowered himself to sit back against the stone, and Ratbag gratefully collapsed beside him.

After a few minutes spent catching his breath and resting his feet, Ratbag said, “You start the fire, and I’ll poke around for some rats-”

“No.”

Ratbag frowned. “No?”

“I sense a patrol nearby. They might track us by the smoke.”

“Let them come! You can just cut them down with all your spooky grave-walker shrak, eh? Problem solved.”

Talion didn’t respond. After a few more seconds, it was clear he planned to say nothing else on the matter.

Easy enough for Talion, with his furred cloak, to forego the fire. Already the temperature was dropping. Ratbag shivered in anticipation of how cold the night would become.

Ratbag snarled with frustration. His stomach snarled as well.

“I’ll still hunt,” Ratbag decided. “Raw meat’s better than an empty gullet.”

“No,” Talion said. “Stay close.”

The gall of this pink-skin, to order him around! To tell an Uruk-hai when he can and cannot hunt! Protests swelled in Ratbag’s throat, but he swallowed them.

Low ranking and weak as he was, Ratbag hadn’t survived this long by mouthing off at the wrong moments. He knew how to pick his battles.

“Right. Whatever you say, Ranger.”

“I kept first watch last night. Tonight, it is your turn.” Talion wrapped the fur cloak tighter around himself.

“And what should I watch for? Nothin’ around here but hill-rats.”

“I already told you of the patrol nearby,” Talion said, impatience clipping his voice. “Watch for Uruk-hai.”

“Ratbag _is_ uruk-hai,” Ratbag rankled.

“I am only concerned with real Uruks. Wake me if any draw close.”

With that last cutting remark, Talion lay down to sleep, his back turned away from Ratbag.

Talion’s words jangled through Ratbag’s mind like a discordant bell.

_Real uruks._

Talion didn’t consider Ratbag a real uruk. Well, of course he didn’t. Why else would he allow Ratbag to skulk around after him, or send him off on errands like a trained pet? Why else would he allow Ratbag to watch over him while he slept?

Clearly, Talion saw Ratbag as a mere dish-licker, a belly-crawler. Even asleep and helpless, the ranger had no fear of him.

Minutes stretched on in terrible silence. Hunger and insult tore at Ratbag like the fangs of twin wargs, devouring him from the inside, driving him to madness.

Ratbag leaped up. He drew his knife and stood over Talion, panting raggedly.

Talion didn’t stir.

The infamous ranger. The Grave-walker. Death from the shadows, scourge of uruk-hai. Every warchief in Mordor dreamed of the feeling their own blade pressed against this tark’s throat. Uruks that Talion _would_ feel threatened by.

Ratbag plunged the knife into Talion’s neck.

At the last moment, the ranger turned toward his attacker, roused by some sense or sound he’d heard. But too late. Blood splattered up the man’s chin and cheek. His eyes stretched wide with shock. His mouth opened to call out, but he was dead before he could speak.

Black, hysterical laughter bubbled out of Ratbag’s throat as he crouched over the corpse. He continued cackling as he worked his blade back and forth, sawing through bone, one hand tangled in the ranger’s hair to keep his head from lolling. It was difficult, sticky work, but soon he’d decapitated the body.

He held Talion’s head aloft to inspect it by moonlight, and his laugh wilted. The tark’s features were twisted in an expression of shock and betrayal.

Of course he was surprised, Ratbag told himself. Talion had thought he had Ratbag better trained. It was the betrayal of a man bitten by his own pet. That’s what Ratbag reminded himself, trying to stir of the flames of hatred that had spurred him to violence. But that feeling had burned down to smoking embers and could not be rekindled.

Ratbag tossed the head away, suddenly revolted. It smacked wetly against the wall and rolled across the stone.

He looked out at the night. Wind blew across the rocky landscape, lifting Ratbag’s hair from his sweaty neck and making his skin erupt into goosebumps. The breeze carried voices, and a whiff of smoke. The uruk-hai patrol Talion had been worried about? Far away, though. They wouldn’t be a problem.

Ratbag yanked the fur cloak off the corpse and wrapped it around himself to block out the chill. The ranger wouldn’t need it tonight.

In fact, he would never need it again. Ratbag would never trek across another mountainside behind the ranger, always keeping the fringe of that garment in sight. Talion would never take another first watch, sitting by the campfire and staring out into the night while Ratbag settled in to sleep.

“You’re supposed to be the grave-walker,” Ratbag spat, suddenly overcome by anger. “The unkillable ranger! And you let yourself be killed by Ratbag? A worthless little flâg like _Ratbag_? Pah!”

Ratbag kicked the headless corpse. It didn’t make him feel better.

With nothing left to do, he slumped down a short distance from the body and pulled the cloak tightly around himself. It took him quite a while to fall asleep. Despite the furs, Ratbag shivered long into the night.

* * *

Ratbag woke under attack, hauled up by a hand around his throat. His first panicked thought was of Talion. Talion was back! Talion had come for revenge.

But it wasn’t Talion who swam into view as Ratbag frantically blinked the sleep from his eyes.

An Uruk’s craggy, misshapen face grinned up at him. His attacker’s hand was so huge it wrapped all the way around the smaller orc’s neck. He slammed Ratbag against the wall, causing him to cry out in pain, and laughed. His laugh was echoed by a dozen other voices.

Ratbag finally noticed the other uruks gathered around. A warband, their faces all painted with the same slashes of red and black.

“Ratbag the Coward,” the lead uruk rumbled. “I heard rumor you been following around the grave-walker. Licking his fingers and eating his scraps!”

This caused another rumble of laughter from the group.

Ratbag tried to speak, but only a choked sound came out. His mind swam and his vision darkened.

The uruk let go. Ratbag crumbled to the ground and sucked in a deep, wheezing lungful of air. He started to clamber to his feet, but the Uruk captain planted a foot in his ribs and kicked him over.

Ratbag sat up, swearing and spitting blood. “Idiot! Ratbag is no friend of the tark. Ratbag has killed the tark!”

“Shrak,” the warband leader dismissed.

“I can prove it,” Ratbag insisted. “I cut off his head with my own blade.”

He scanned the outcropping, but the head was nowhere in sight. Neither was the rest of the corpse. Where Talion had lain the night before, the stone was streaked with blood.

Ratbag’s face darkened. “The body was here! What have you done with it?”

“You must be delusional with hunger. Can the pitiful Ratbag the Coward not even catch his own hill rats anymore?” the leader mocked. “Pathetic. I, Grottag the Merciful, will put you out of your misery.”

The Uruk unslung a massive hammer from his back. Ratbag didn’t wait for the blow, but surged forward to try and slip past the leader while he was distracted. The war party closed around like a fist. Two uruks darted forward to catch Ratbag by his arms and haul him back against the wall.

“You fancy yourself a leader of uruk? I say you’re too scared to face me alone!” Ratbag spat, struggling in the uruks’ grip.

Grottag the Merciful did not deem this statement worthy of disputing. He raised the hammer over his head. Ratbag flinched under its shadow.

The crushing blow didn’t come. After a few seconds, Ratbag opened his eyes. The Uruk leader stood swaying slightly. His eyes crossed to look at the arrow tip poking out of his forehead. The hammer slipped from his hands and hit the stone with a ‘clunk’, and the Uruk fell like a tree.

The other uruks let go of Ratbag in the sudden confusion, all of them shouting and taking up arms. They spun around but could not find the assassin.

Ratbag took advantage of the confusion to scurry away. He went several yards and dropped into cover behind an outcropping of stones. From there, he watched the other Uruks fall one by one, each arrow whistling out of nowhere and finding its mark, until only two orcs remained.

Talion dropped down between them. He plunged his sword into one’s chest. When the other lunged from behind, Talion spun around, blocking the other’s sword with his own, while his other hand struck out to slash the final orc’s throat open with his dagger.

The uruk soldier clutched his throat and fell to his knees, choking on his own blood, while Talion dispassionately wiped the gore off his sword and sheathed his bade.

Too late, Ratbag understood the meaning of Talion’s other title. _Grave-walker._

He tried to shrink down further behind the stones, but Talion had already seen him. The ranger crossed the distance in a few long strides. Before Ratbag could react, Talion stood over him, as imposing and solid a figure as ever, bloody dagger still clasped in one hand.

“Oy, Ranger,” Ratbag rasped, his mouth suddenly dry. “About last night. I knew you couldn’t really be killed. It was just a gaff. No hard feelings, right?”

Talion didn’t answer. The dagger shifted in his grip, catching sunlight.

“You won’t kill me,” Ratbag insisted. “We’re friends.”

“Presumptuous words from the uruk who murdered me in my sleep.”

“Come on, Ranger, I was just messing around. What’s a little blood spilled between friends?”

“Good question,” Talion said, pressing the tip of the blade beneath Ratbag’s chin. “Shall we find out?”

Ratbag swallowed. The slight motion caused the blade’s edge to nick his flesh, but he met the ranger’s gaze steadily.

“You’re not even going to apologize, are you?” Talion asked.

“Would that stop you from killing me?”

“Perhaps. If you truly regret what you’ve done.”

“Well, in that case, Ratbag is filled to the brim with remorse. How could I have dared to slight you, o mighty grave-walker?” Ratbag said, lips peeling back in a sneer.

Talion laughed in disbelief. “I saved your life!”

“I’ve gotten out of worse on my own.”

Talion withdrew his blade and slid it back into its sheath. “You are an absolutely wretched little creature.” There was a hint of fondness in his voice, not that Ratbag could have recognized it. Affection was far outside of his emotional vocabulary.

When Talion turned and started away, Ratbag watched him go with an ache in his chest. He didn’t know why he should feel so wretched. The ranger had spared him- not just spared him, but once again saved his life. Things had turned out alright. And yet, Ratbag felt miserable.

Talion stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“You...you want me to follow you?”

“Not especially. But that’s never stopped you before.”

Ratbag hurried to Talion’s side, keeping pace with the man as well as he could. “I just thought, after what I did…”

“Ah, but that was just a gaff,” Talion said. He glanced knowingly down at the orc. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I was sick of you treating me like, you know, some kind of trained animal, like a pet or something.”

“What a poorly trained pet you would be!” Talion laughed.

Ratbag bared his teeth. He would kill the tark all over again, if he had the chance!

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for being short with you,” Talion said, becoming serious. “I spend so much time alone, I forget how to act around others.”

Ratbag couldn’t have been more surprised if Talion had fallen to the ground and pledged himself to Ratbag’s service. An apology from the ranger? After Ratbag had tried to murder him? It made no sense, and it made the orc uncomfortable.

Ratbag cleared his throat. “Well. If it’ll ease your conscience, you can hunt breakfast for us.”

“Would you have regretted it, had I not come back? No, never mind. It’s not important. For my own part, if you had managed to kill me for good, I would have considered it a favor.”

“That’s morbid!” Ratbag exclaimed. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“My family awaits me in death. My wife and son.”

“...Oh.”

They trekked in silence for a while, until Talion stuck out an arm to stop Ratbag in his tracks. Ratbag opened his mouth to protest, but Talion shushed him. He pointed. Ratbag looked and saw two fat hill rats scuttling among the rocks.

With a single smooth motion, Talion drew his bow and fired an arrow into the first rat, then shot the other before it could react.

Ratbag hurried to retrieve their meal.

Later, sitting around the fire with the rats already cooked and eaten, and his belly finally full, Ratbag let out a contented sigh.

“It’s funny, innit,” he said, picking his teeth with a rib bone. “You being so eager to die, while I fight like a mad bastard just to stay alive another day.”

“I try to keep you from harm, but you don’t make it easy. Why do you think I wanted to avoid that patrol? You have only one life to lose.”

Ratbag hadn’t realized the ranger had been trying to protect him last night. He’d assumed it to be self-preservation. But of course, if Talion couldn’t die, there would be no reason for him to be so cautious; except on Ratbag’s behalf.

How much had Ratbag slowed the ranger’s quest, by tagging along with him? How much harder did Talion have to fight to make sure Ratbag wasn’t killed by an enemy’s stray blow or arrow?

A feeling Ratbag couldn’t identify settled in his chest. It was heavy, but not the same kind of weight as loneliness or guilt. Over the hard, merciless years, Ratbag had forgotten this feeling, if he had ever known it.

That night, Ratbag took first watch without complaint. When he looked at Talion, sleeping deeply in spite of the orc’s betrayal of his trust, he felt it again, like a fist inside his chest that squeezed in the most sublime way, and Ratbag thought he might know the feeling by its name, though he dared not admit it.

It was impossible. How could an uruk-hai love a man?


End file.
